Conversations With Dead People
by Morithil
Summary: Set the night Jack returns to Port Royale with Will and Elizabeth and is imprisoned awaiting his hanging the following morning. Jack finds a bittersweet camaraderie with the occupant in the next cell.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything POTC-centric, regrettably (Jack's hat would be nice, though). I'm just ad-libbing.

**CONVERSATIONS WITH DEAD PEOPLE**

And he didn't even have his hat.

That would have softened the blow, Jack Sparrow considered, sprawled out, limbs splayed, on the stone flagged floor of a somewhat familiar cell.

Well, nothing for it. That miserable mutt that usually held the cell keys in his scummy jaws was nowhere to be seen, and there was a noticeable shortage of bone shaped bait lying in the straw that thinly covered the cold floor. No visible sign of any help coming his way, and it had taken him the last half hour to work that one out. Hopefully gazing out onto Port Royale as if a cannonball would blast his way out wasn't doing him any good either.

Jack wasn't concerned by the chilling surface under his back, it was the thought of the hangman's noose that made his warm skin raise in prickles of quiet fear. Punctuating that unpleasant thought, he let out a resigned sigh, that made the hair hanging over his eyes sway to one side, beads clicking as the tangled strands shifted over his tanned face. Another one to add to the collection of adventures he'd had in his life of freedom roaming the seas.

Ah, the Pearl. 

If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could feel the smooth surface of her, the wood worn but strong, the tiller, sea-salt pungent, familiar and made for his grip alone. Jack hummed tunelessly under his breath, lending an endearingly off-key melody to the song Elizabeth had taught him on the island.

"...Drink up me hearties, yo-ho...", he rasped.

Could do with some rum now, he thought. Bit of the Caribbean courage swillin' round me guts wouldn't do any harm, 'specially with the day I've got tomorrow.

" th'Powers, at least sing it in tune"

A voice from the cell next to his brought Jack round to a state approaching clarity, given his record that there was no way that absolute sobriety would ever be achieved, this was a wake-up call. Now, particularly.

"Eh?" he muttered, turning his head in the direction of the voice. A woman, slightly disgruntled, stunningly attractive, Jack hoped, trying to visualise its owner. Unfortunately, the newly installed wall, put in following a notorious pirate being sprung from that very cell obscured his vision completely. Jack let his imagination run for a while.

"If I'm going to do the long walk tomorrow, at least sing something a little more pleasing to the ear, mate".

"You for the noose as well, then?"

A soft snort from the cell.

"Just my luck."

"I never heard of such a civilised place as Port Royale stringing up women", Jack called back, and then voiced an afterthought, " You're not a eunuch, are you?"

A laugh. "No, Captain. Just a woman".

"Well that's no charge to take the short drop for"

"There are worse things I can imagine".

Jack was intrigued. Finding someone who considered that there were worse things than attending your own hanging was not your average discovery. He sat up partly, resting back on his elbows.

"Like wot, exactly? Ecumenically speaking, there's not much I'd rate below a hanging".

"Obviously you've never worn a corset".

At this Jack sat up fully. Scrambling to his feet, he approached the bars of his cell, and leaning on them, spoke through the iron.

"What?"

"Corsets; you have no concept of pain without having worn one"

"Sorry love, you just reminded me of someone"

"That someone coming to rescue you?"

"Unlikely".

"Well, not much use me reminding you of them, then, is it?"

In spite of himself Jack chuckled.

"In that case, let me introduce meself. Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, currently residing in the cell adjacent to yours, Miss...?"

There was a short pause before Jack heard the shuffling of someone moving nearer the bars of their cell.

"Miss? Captain Katherine Pike to you, Sparrow".

Jack raised an eyebrow, which, when coupled with his kohl outlined wide eyes, gave him the crazed look of a man who has spent too much time in the midday sun, which was not far from the truth at all.

"And what be the name of your fair ship, Pike?"

"La Luna".

Jack nodded in approval, his beads tinkling against the iron rods he clasped with both hands.

"Plundering, pillaging and pilfering all over the Caribbean, were you, Pike?"

He could almost hear the smile that spread across her face.

"Aye, did a bit of transporting as well, carrying guns out of the Main to begin with. Night voyages. Gave me the name for the ship, really".

"Its a good name", Jack agreed amiably.

"Fine ship she was too"

"Was, mate?"

"Aye. Run-in with the King's Navy off the coast a couple of days ago. Outgunned. Made it to the shore in a lifeboat to negotiate, we were carrying a rich cargo, liable to sink if they continued. Minute I touched sand me crew turned the ship around and fled. Kept to the code they did alright. Every man for himself, that's what code they kept to. Still, what d'you expect of pirates, eh?"

Jack looked at his scuffed boots. Betrayal by your own crew was something he was all too familiar with. Barbossa, you dog, he whispered, the Pearl was not yours to take. And I treated you fair as well. Still, easy come, easy go, he shrugged.

"Sparrow?" An inquisitive call from the next cell shook him from his reverie.

"Eh? Still here, love. Not going anywhere at this inopportune moment".

"I'm with you there, mate. Nice to have a bit of company before I go to Davy Jones".

"Likewise, love".

"It's Katherine".

"Thought it was Captain?"

"We both hang tomorrow, not much reason for formalities"

"Jack".

"Pleasure talking with you, Jack".

"Yours is pleasurable company, Katherine".

They both sat with their backs to the barred doors of their cells. Jack fingered a ragged cuff thoughtfully, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of the round moon suspended in the night sky, surrounded by the stone and metal of his only window. The pale light shone on his likeable if eccentric face, bathing his bronzed skin in a blue-white milk. Jack stared at the crater dotted plate in the sky until his eyes hurt. Smoothing the red bandanna over his chaotic mane of dark hair, he turned again in the direction of the next cell.

"Have I outsmarted you anywhere before, Katherine? Something about your name seems familiar"

She snorted amusedly at this allusion to his quick thinking. 

"Maybe. It's a big ocean, Jack"

"I'd remember you alright, though. Been near the Isla de Muerta lately?" A shot in the dark, Jack admitted, but he couldn't place where he'd heard her name before.

"Nope. Tried to filch a fortune in silver coins buried under a chapel on one of the British owned islands though; would that be it?"

Wait a minute, Jack thought, sitting bolt upright. Heard that before.

"You wouldn't have been captain of the ship docked on the other side of the island the day the silver was; borrowed, shall we say, were you?"

There was a distinct clink as bone hit metal. Katherine solidly grasped an iron bar in one hand and a slow grin spread across her face, one combined with outrage.

"Been impersonating members of the clergy, Jack?"

Jack looked about him as if suspecting the walls had ears.

"I may 'ave, Katherine", he said uncertainly.

A sigh escaped the occupant in the next cell.

"Then don't bloody do it on the same day I do, alright, Jack?", she laughingly called, mock-enraged, "as if it wasn't hard enough trying to convince the locals of my good intentions for the parish!"

Jack slid along the floor so that he was as close to the next cell as possible.

"You were after that silver as well? Small ocean, more like"

"So, impersonating a priest of the Church of England, eh, Jack? Glad that worked out for you, though at the time I would have said something a lot different".

"And what personage were you kitted out as, milady?"

"A nun".

Jack threw his head back and laughed, a husky, deep sound that filled the empty halls of the prison with rebounding notes of mirth and warmth.

"Can't have been that convincing then, can you, Katherine"

"Hah! I had everything, mate; rosary beads, demure voice mastered, a holier-than-thou look about me...shame, though; if there hadn't been _two _suspicious new members of the clergy on the island that day it might have worked".

After that a silence dropped between the two. Jack was reminiscing about the plans that did work, occasionally laughing quietly to himself at some private joke and stroking his plaited beard thoughtfully. Katherine was similarly preoccupied, suddenly and silently transported to the open seas, standing on the deck of La Luna and relishing the sea air whipping her abundant locks about her face. She grinned, a knowing white crescent moon in the dank shadows of the cell.

***

It was some while before they spoke again. Some inner intuition on both parts led them to hold respectful silences while the other was engaged in thought and rumination. The hours passed deep into the cool night after they finally resumed conversation, the moon wide and bright as they argued playfully over whose escapades were the more daring, who lived the closest to their myth. Jack was defending his less than admirable reputation with the vigour of a man unjustly wronged.

"That's a tall tale, Jack."

"And not a single shot fired as well, love"

"So you say".

"Alright then, seeing as there's nothing else for it...most outlandish, furthest away from your black-gutted self, convincing disguise ever. Shoot, darling, there's nothing to loose"

"Nun"

"Priest"

"Harlot"

"I said FURTHEST away from yourself, love, not closest! Savvy?"

"Fine. Lawyer"

"Barkeep"

"Well that's hardly difficult at all, Jack. Pint in one hand and the other on the bar s'all you need to do that"

"Erm....cook. No! Wait; chef, no less. French. Had to twirl me moustache for that one"

"Really. Swedish princess, top that".

"Duke of Buckinghamshire"

"Last I heard, he was dead, mate"

"Well they didn't know that, did they?"

A clunk as Katherine tossed a bone aimlessly at the wall. The sound bounced off the walls much like the object thrown. Empty, hollow and reeking of death.

"Dead men tell no tales", she recited blandly.

Jack shifted back into his sprawled recline on the floor, hands behind his head.

"That would be the living who do that, darling"

"Don't suppose dead women tell any either"

"Hard to say. Met a talkative corpse in Tortuga once. Nice bird, bit too thin, though".

"Liar".

"Pirate, love, pirate"

"Likewise; you forget that, Jack?"

Jack held his hands up in a peaceable gesture before realising she couldn't see them. He let them flap down into his lap.

Katherine stood up in her cell, brushing off her dusty skirts which hung in rough edges above her boots. She paced the floor of her cell quickly, spinning the last step at each corner as she turned round and round. Finally, she looked up towards the wall through which Jack Sparrow lay and cleared her throat pointedly.

"Figure I'm breaking the rules here, Jack, being a dead woman and all", she began sheepishly.

Jack looked questioningly in the general direction of her voice.

"You're not dead yet, love".

A weary sigh in response.

"Not yet."

Another marked pause, then she began pacing again, talking almost rhythmically with each step.

"I miss La Luna, Jack. I miss her something terrible".

Jack stretched uncomfortably on the floor before fixing his smouldering gaze on the ceiling. Where was the Pearl now, he wondered.

"Know how you feel there, Katherine".

"Everything she is, Jack, everything. That worn wooden smell, the salty grains left over from the spray. They don't understand, not at all".

Jack instantly identified with Katherine's outspoken love for her ship, its texture, the smell of it on the water. He pulled his shirt sleeves over his wrists as the cool night air wafted in through the window.

"Who don't, love?"

"Them", Katherine nodded out towards the bay where the Dauntless was docked and then realised Jack couldn't have seen her gesture, "the smart jackets, the gold button lads. The King's Navy. All that time spent on the open seas, serving King and country, and they don't understand us, Jack. They don't understand why".

Jack sat up again and, standing up, wandered over to the wall dividing them. He leaned tiredly on it, resting his body weight on one shoulder. 

"Why we spend our lives on the ocean"

"Only coming to land for food and other supplies"

"Rum", Jack finished, shaking his head slowly, his skull rubbing against the dark, uneven wall of stone.

"Aye, rum. The sea-spray in your face in the morning"

"The lull of the waves at night"

"The adventure"

"Danger"

"Chasing the sun"

"The horizon, actually, love"

A pause as both become lost in thought.

"Not being tied down", Katherine added.

"Always your own master", Jack resumed, "living your own life"

"No rules but the code. And they don't understand it, Jack"

"Don't think they ever will, love, its too risky for them, ain't it, wanting just to be-"

Both spoke in unison.

"- free".

Another silence, but this time one of understanding and unexpected camaraderie. Katherine slumped against the wall of her cell, leaning back on the stone as Jack did the same on the other side of the division. They were both as good as dead, really, she reasoned.

"I think we understand each other, Captain Jack Sparrow"

"I'd come to that conclusion as well, Captain", Jack annunciated with his traditional slur, rasping the ends of words, considering the irony of discovering a kindred spirit the day before they were both due to dangle at the gallows.

On her side of the wall, Katherine smiled. Jack, on his side, grinned mischievously in an unwitting response.

***

It was still reasonably dark when Jack was awakened rudely by a loud clanging noise and the jangle of keys as a cell was opened and locked. He opened one eye and peered out from it, attempting to observe the scene without moving his head, a feat that made him appear even more comical.

They'd talked into the early hours after that last comfortable silence. Swapping stories, the real ones more often than not, much to Jack's surprise. Katherine was refreshingly honest about which stories and rumours about her were true and which were simply urban legends, but she, like Jack, still maintained a partial shield over a portion of her life. Even if they were both for the noose that day, spilling all their secrets was on neither's agenda.

Unknown to Jack, Katherine had placed a hand to the wall separating them, as if trying to reach a point of contact with the fellow pirate on the other side. Jack, for some unknown reason he assumed was due to the lack of rum swilling round his innards, did the same, holding his hand there on the wall until the stone beneath became warm.

Jack scrambled to his feet when he realised that it was Katherine's cell being opened. A loud series of shuffles and the sound of booted feet shook the last dregs of sleep from his muddled brain. He stole a suspicious glance at the window.

It was still early morning, perhaps only four or five hours into the day. A little early for a public hanging, he puzzled. Finally the notion hit him, and he swayed lightly with the impact, hands outstretched in a gesture either for dramatic effect or to keep his balance.

Vigilantes.

He heard Katherine struggling, winced in sympathy with every blow he heard. Some of the decent ones were directed at the guards trying to drag her out, their curses of pain punctuated by Katherine's defiant shaking of her newly imposed wrist irons, the chains jangling eerily in the early morning stillness. Jack dashed to the front of his cell.

"Blaggards! You can't hang me yet - Katherine Pike isn't ready for the hangman yet!"

Jack could hear the slow panic behind the admirable bravado.

Through the chaos of another struggle he managed to pick up shreds of the guard's sentences.

"Oh, not ready for the gallows are you? Well, the alternative is-", here Jack was unable to hear above the noise of the chains and scuffling. He smote the solid grid with a frustrated hand and stepped away towards the back of his cell. Then, after a breathless sigh, three figures emerged before the crossed bars, causing him to turn back.

Two guards, struggling to control between them, a woman clapped in irons, clad in the tawdry shirt and boots common to pirates, a roughly layered skirt bound with a leather belt and sash and a rakishly cut coat not unlike his own. Throwing them both off her with surprising strength, she dived forward into the pale blue light.

Her mane of tumbling brown locks, some strands bleached lighter by the sun and salt water, brushed the hands he gripped the locked grid with. Jack leaned closer to the sand streaked waves. Face to face, dark eyes to hazel ones, both kohl outlined, they momentarily stood.

In that limited time Jack studied the face, tanned like his own, the smooth planes with a faintly proud demeanour and the eyes with the look all too familiar in them; searching for the horizon and the open water.

The face to the voice he'd spent perhaps the last day of his life talking with.

I was right, he smiled to himself. Mildly disgruntled, stunningly attractive. He pressed closer as Katherine forced an iron bound hand out of the grip of one guard and clasped his hand in a firm and hearty handshake.

"Take all you can"

"Give nothing back", he resounded, pressing her hand to his chest as far as the bloody grid would allow him. Damn these gates, he inwardly fumed.

A fleeting second, where their faces were frustratingly close through the bars and both sets of eyes flickered casually from maintaining contact to the other's mouth.

Then the guards mustered their strength, and jointly hauled her away, as she glanced back at the pirate in the cell.

"Katherine", he muttered.

"Jack", the reply from the face half resigned, half taut in fear and anticipation.

She disappeared from view. Jack slung an arm out through one of the gaps in the grid and let it hang limply. Never mind Will Turner, Jack thought, you're the one who needs to get himself a girl, mate. A girl like that. 

Gone, at the most inopportune moment. Jack tried not to dwell on the image of her lovely neck, at least what he'd seen of it, anyway, wreathed in a tightened rope. He sighed. Slowly, the scruffy outline of the prison dog shambled into a pool of light before the gate of his cell. 

Jack eyeballed the hapless canine witheringly.

"Oh, so now you turn up, eh? Could have done with you bringing me the keys five minutes ago, couldn't I?"

The dog returned his look placidly before padding off slowly in the opposite direction. Suddenly the will to tempt the animal back left Jack, and he stepped to his right, leaning against the wall.

They done wot's right by them, Jack, he muttered to himself, despite knowing the full injustice of those words, shame you don't have yer hat, though.

But at least he'd seen her face.


End file.
